


How It Ends

by Ladysxnsa



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Butterfly Effect, im not a writer but neither are D&D, major pro-stark, not exactly anti-dany but not pro-dany, starks for the win, theon deserved to live
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2020-05-20 17:35:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19381501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladysxnsa/pseuds/Ladysxnsa
Summary: How the show ends, with one minor alterationTheon Greyjoy.The alteration is minor but the effect is intense.





	1. How it Happens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How it should have gone down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an alternate version of The Long Night, and for me, the one that makes more sense. It will be the series of events following Theon Greyjoy Stark Surviving the Long Night and the effect his survival has on every character's lives.  
> The chapters will remain short but they will keep coming (If all goes well and people like it) with only short periods of time between each one   
> If you're feeling friendly, my instagram account is @ladysxnsa , where i have already expressed many opinions on how Theon deserved to live :)

“- You’re a good man, thank you”

He turned back to face his enemy, as the last man between Bran and the Night King, accepting his fate was the most comforting thing for him, that and knowing the open arms waiting for him on the other side. Robb.

_That is where I’m going, to see Robb, isn’t it?_

_“You’re a Greyjoy, and you’re a Stark” That’s what Jon said. And Sansa,_

_Sansa._

He began charging at the Night King, spear in hand and _Sansa_ in his mind,

His last thought was of the hours before, the hours he spent with her, when he pledged his life to protect her, to _fight_ for her, pledged his loyalty and his shield to her name, to her crown, to her.

Then nothing, silence.

There was no pain, strange really, not as he expected, but grateful nonetheless. Time slowed after he was struck. He couldn’t measure how long he was led conscious before the darkness took him.

 _Darkness,_ had he failed? Was he never to see Robb again?

_Unforgivable._

_“Theon,”_

_Robb?_

_“You shouldn’t be here,”_ His king said, oh how Theon missed his voice.

~~_Unforgivable._ ~~

_“You can’t join us, not yet. It’s not your time, you need to live”_

_Forgiven?_

_“You will join us, one day, I promise. But not now, you have to live. You have to live and fight. For my sister, she needs you.”_

_Sansa._

He fought against the Starks once, now he must fight for them,

fight for Sansa.


	2. How it Starts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He survives.

It wasn’t long before he was found. Still breathing, heart still beating.

All it would have taken was a few minutes, a few minutes for the blood to pour out and his heart to slow. He found himself remembering the ocean, the sound, the taste, the way the light reflected off it's surface, changing its colour. He remembered his home before it all went wrong, before he lost his place in this world, his identity.

_"Everything you did brought you to where you are now, where you belong. Home"_

But he found his identity, with the Starks, with Robb, with Sansa, even Jon. He never thought that he would ever find solace with what he did, he never thought he would have a home again, his memories of home are vague, shifting, they're not of the Iron Islands anymore, not of Pyke or his childhood. They're of Winterfell, running and playing with Robb and Jon, teasing Sansa and laughing with Arya, teaching Bran and Rickon how to hold a sword, watching as they tumble over the weight of it in their hands.

He was quiet and he was comfortable, and happy.

But he wasn't finished on this world, as Robb said, it's not his time.

The cold helped, slowed the blood flow and kept his heart beating, just long enough for him to be found, lifted and, carefully taken to the warmth inside Winterfell's walls. Sansa following closely behind, stoic exterior but only a glass pane now separated the chilling calmness from her distress and fear. A pane so thin that merely a tap could shatter it.

Arya watched, recovering, waiting.

It didn’t feel real, almost too easy, almost like the shards of the Night King's ice body will reform along with his army. Though, no amount of convincing that he was truly gone could conceal the fear that still ran through her. The ice-cold grip around her neck lingered, she felt as though his hands were still around her throat. His haunting blue eyes gave her more fear than any other monster she faced, his glare digging into her skull when they weren't even there.

She felt a chill run down her spine, but  _this_ war was over now, her family was safe. She couldn’t help the proud feeling rushing over her.

Her family was safe, because of _her._

“He’ll live,” Bran, next to her, watching Theon get carried away, “he was meant to die”

Arya looked at him, “you shouldn’t say that, not around Sansa”

“You don’t understand, everything has changed, now that he lives. She’s not safe”

“What is that supposed to mean? Bran who’s not safe? Sansa?”

“He bent the knee to her, he’s loyal to no one else –“

“Bran, Theon bent the knee to Daenerys, does that mean Daenerys is not safe?”

Bran, in that moment, looked up to Arya, she had never seen so much worry in his eyes.

He had never _not_ seen anything coming, he knew every outcome of this war, none had Theon walking out of it alive.

“Sansa. He bent the knee to Sansa. And Daenerys will have her executed for it.”


	3. The Direwolf pin

It was like a miracle.

Ever since her father, her mother and brother, Rickon and the rest, she had never had faith, she didn’t believe in any gods or that there was any omnipotent being out there waiting to be worshipped and prayed to.

But as she sat by his side, watching his chest rise and fall in ragged breaths, still barely clinging onto life, but doing so nonetheless, she couldn’t help but pray. To every and all gods that she knew of, with belief in them or not. She prayed for his life, for his recovery, but also that if he succumbs to death, she prayed for painlessness, she prayed that he felt nothing but the love she has for him and the love she knows he will receive when he is reunited with her family. His family.

He was so still, so peaceful, so _fragile_. She didn’t know if he could hear her, speaking to him. She didn’t know if he could feel her touch, when she held his hand for every minute after Samwell had done all he could. She wanted him to know these things, he was not and never again will be, alone.

The minutes felt like hours and the hours felt like days, it came as a surprise when she heard the soft tap on the door,

“The funeral, m’lady, the men and women are gathering, should I tell them you won’t be joining?”

She wanted nothing more. She couldn’t leave his side, not so soon.

She hesitated, “No, that’s alright,” putting her hand back into Theon’s, glancing at him once more with glazed eyes, “I’ll be joining them, I should see Arya.”

That was when she felt it, the twitch in her hand, the low grumble of a man who had been struck in the stomach with a spear. He hadn’t opened his eyes, but she knew he could hear her, feel her touch.

He had survived

She pressed a metal shape into his palm. A pin, a direwolf.

She would return soon but she needed him to know that she was still with him,

The guilt was overwhelming, almost like it wasn’t just guilt.

She realised this was the final tap on the glass pane, the shattered shards of glass formed tears, she couldn’t avoid the salty stream of tears down her cheeks, nor the soft laugh that followed.

He was her pack,

And he had survived.


	4. The fires

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Though the winter winds were strong, the fires burned bright and left no face untouched by it's heat.

“… And we shall never see their like again.”

Those last words echoed within her. So many men. So many women. Children. So many will never see another day.

But not her, _not today_.

She was handed a torch, feeling the heat of the fire reach her skin. Though she welcomed the heat, she felt her hair stand at its touch. When it reached her neck, where the Night King had touched her and left her skin raw and frozen, it only reminded her that death did not have a face.

_Death has many faces_

She once thought. Now that she has looked into its eyes, fallen into the blue pits of souls dead and lost, she saw _nothing_.

_Death has no face._

_Death lives in our shadows, feeds our fears and marks our future._

_Death is the only certain thing in life, the only thing that links every life that lives._

_Yet most try to run from it, waste their forsaken lives trying to cheat what is inevitable, trying to deny the one true God that is forever present._

_Death has no face,_

_Death has a purpose, an agenda, and these men and women have paid the price._

She marched earnestly towards the pillar. Looking to her right as she saw Sansa do the same.

_“He was meant to die”_

Bran’s words haunted her. She had known what Theon did to her family, and she had known what he did _for_ her family, for Sansa. She had once thought to put him on her list

_The Hound, Meryn Trant, Joffrey Lannister, Thoros of Myr, Ilyn Payne, the Mountain, Cersei Lannister, the Red Woman, Theon Greyjoy --_

It was after she had heard about Bran and Rickon. Her littlest brothers. She had hated Theon for a long time. She remembered wishing he was with Robb only so that he would have died with him at the Red Wedding.

But he was her family, not her prey.

\-- _Beric Dondarrion_

He was on her list. Now he is dead. Like many of the other names on her list

Unlike many of the names on her list, he had died _protecting_ her.

He shouldn’t have been there; he shouldn’t have been on her list. She was just a girl, petty and childish, angry like anyone would have been, he was not like the other people on her list, she knew that, he shouldn’t have been on her list.

And now she was sending him to the god he spent his life running from, succeeding in what many failed to do.

 

She had returned to the line of survivors to stand between her brother and sister. The heat that radiated from the fires was a heat she had never felt before. It almost felt as if the bodies engulfed in the flames were feeding the fire more than any amount of wood could. A feeling so intense that it was as if winter had ended and she was already in summer. She couldn’t tell if the tears threatening to fall were from the overwhelming emotions that she had succumbed to, or the sheer force of the heat.

She turned to her right and saw Sansa. It was as if her sister wasn’t there at all, she looked cold and still, reminding her that winter had only just begun. The heat of the fires not touching her skin, unlike the light.

She was glowing, Arya had seen before the funeral started that Sansa had already been crying, her eyes and nose red and her skin wet from the wave of tears. Sansa’s tears never flowed in a single stream. She would cry huge tears that covered her cheeks.

It used to make Arya giggle, when Sansa would cry over silly things. When Jon and Robb used to chase her and Sansa around the halls, Sansa would get frightened and cry those giant tears, even though it was just Jon and Robb, and they were safe in the walls of their home. Arya would think she was just being a baby, and she was the younger one. Their mother would have to wash her whole face so that it wouldn’t dry all sticky and dirty.

But she saw those tears now, and she didn’t giggle, she wanted to cry with her. She wanted nothing more than to lie in bed and hug her sister and cry until they were both asleep. But she knew that if Sansa saw her, she would not be crying. She had gotten good at pretending, hiding her true feelings. That’s all Arya knew though, that she was wearing a mask. She could never know what was beneath it.

_look with your eyes_

She remembered her lesson with Syrio all that time ago. To see the truth.

_Opening your eyes is all that is needing_

She opened her eyes, tried to see the truth, but she never could, not with Sansa. It was that which broke her heart. Everything they had been through together, she had known, was only a fraction on a scale of suffering compared to the past years of Sansa’s life, and Sansa was yet to fully open up to Arya. All she knew was that nothing that Sansa said to her, or to anyone, was complete and true. She had seen with Littlefinger how much of her mind she holds back, how no one ever knows truly what she knows, what she plans or the true meaning behind her words. Arya knew that at the least.

They had never been close before _all this_ , though it was normal, for those two anyway, they were children and they were different and even if none of this ever happened, she knew that when she got to the age she is now, she wouldn’t blame her sister. She knows now that it was the differences between them that pulled them apart. As they got older, the differences whittled down, became meaningless.

It’s what they shared that was important, and she was thankful that it was Sansa with whom she shared her name.

As the fires began to grow, men and women started to retreat, returning to Winterfell in solemn silence. After a while longer, Arya followed, pushing Bran and Sansa and Jon falling in line behind them. To the left, she saw the Queen and her people following her closely. Arya had heard Jorah Mormont fought for his Queen even when the a Wight had struck him straight through his armour.

When the gates had closed behind them and the gathering had dispersed, Jon stepped away to console his Queen. Arya, Sansa and Bran made their way towards the entrance of the Godswood, the snow already beginning to cover the spilled blood and melted tracks.

Arya looked at her sister,

“We need to speak with you, me and Bran.”

Sansa looked down; she had grown so tall, how envious Arya had once been of that height.

“Must it be now? I would like to go to Theon, he has woken, in a sense. I wish to take some food to him, it would be better for a familiar face to be there instead of a stranger.”

Arya look to Bran, then back to Sansa,

“Of course, though before the festivities would be ideal, I would rather talk before it gets too loud that I can’t hear my own thoughts.”

They parted with a small smile.

“Do you still wish to stay here Bran?”

“Yes, thank you Arya. I believe there is someone waiting for you at the forge. You may leave me by the Weirwood.”

And so she did, then, almost hesitantly, made her way to the forge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay this one is quite long and a little (over) dramatic but oh well. Any feedback is welcome on any part of this chapter, or the whole thing in general, on the pacing, the wording or any other aspect, i would appreciate your thoughts, it would help me write better for the chapters to come :)


	5. Reduced to tears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three times that Theon made Sansa (happy) cry, and one time when she smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay just for reference there's quite a chunky section her that's based just after Sansa and Theon reunite, it's all in italics but hopefully the jump/transition isn't too confusing

He was awake when the serving girl had entered.

He had struggled to open his eyes, the light of the winter morning seemed too bright, so he left them closed when she brought him the soup. His lips had dried and cracked; the fever had broken during the night but left it too painful to open his mouth, and it was too cold for them to heal properly, though he remained thankful that he was well enough to feel such pain, feel alive.

He heard the door open again, the serving girl apologised, announcing she had forgotten the spoon and returned as quickly as she left, shuffling closer towards  the bed and placing the soup on the table beside him.

It was the soup he had supped on before the long night, he remembered the smell, remembered the company, how calm he was in her presence.

"Sansa"

Opening his eyes to see her, sat there watching him, was a gift. Suddenly that same calmness he had eaten in the night before was upon him and he released a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding.

“Theon,” she managed to squeak out, before pausing to take his hand in both of hers, letting out a small cry through a small smile, large tears dropped from her eyes.

It took all the energy in him to just squeeze her hand in return, blinking out a few tears of his own, she needn’t finish, he knew exactly what she would say.

     _“I’m just, surprised,” she said with a small laugh “I didn’t think you would bend the knee to anyone who wasn’t Yara-“_

_“I didn’t bend the knee, Yara did.” He corrected, laughing at Sansa’s reluctance, “and, besides, in return she promised us the Iron Islands, Yara would be Queen still.”_

_Sansa shook her head, turning back to her desk, only to fidget around with a few loose documents._

_“Don’t you see Theon?”_

_“See what?”_

_“Yara may call herself Queen and you may get the Iron Islands back from your uncle, but you won’t be independent, you won’t have the Iron Islands as your own, Yara is a Queen in nothing but name. Not while Daenerys continues to call herself Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, because the Iron Islands are one of those seven kingdoms, and the Dragon Queen doesn’t seem like she’d be happy with only five of them,”_

_Theon shuffled in confusion, “Five? You mean to tell me-“_

_“Just because Jon bent the knee does not mean I will, nor does it mean the North will. We did not go through two Kings in the North and a decade’s worth of suffering and loss, to lose the independence we deserve, to a Targaryen no less.”_

_“Sansa that’s, that’s dangerous talk”_

_“I won’t lie to you Theon, I trust you, but I don’t trust her, not with Jon, not with the North. She’s not my Queen,” Theon could see it in her eyes, she wouldn’t be moved. It was the same look she had moments before he pushed Myranda over the bannister to her death. That look was all he needed. All he needed back then to defy Ramsay and now, to defy Daenerys._

_“She didn’t come here to fight for the North, she came here so that she would have a living Kingdom to rule over, masking it with her love for Jon, calling this war Jon’s war. She said so herself._

_But this **is** her war, she’s clever, she knew she wouldn’t find love in the North, not with her family history. So, fighting this battle, endangering her dragons and her army to fight the Night King, it must win our loyalty, right? She ‘saved’ the North, she ‘did it for the North, for Jon’, as if she were given the choice, there was no such thing._

_If she didn’t join the fight, we wouldn’t stand a chance. We would lose and she would be facing an army of hundreds of thousands of dead, and she would die along with every other living soul. Fighting with us now was her only option, if she wants to be Queen of anything. I seem to be the only person who sees that.”_

_Theon, sighing in defeat, “Are we to spend the possible final hours of our lives arguing over her then?” stepping back to look into her eyes, taking in as much of her as he could._

_She left out a small, breathy laugh, “It seems I went on a bit then. I apologise.”_

_Theon shook his head, “No need, it’s captivating, when you are so passionate about your feelings. I admire it. I wish I had such conviction”_

_“But you do,” Sansa took a small step towards him, “Jon told me how you went to go save your sister, how you fought your own men who were ready to betray her._

_In fact, everything you’ve done since the moment you took my hand and jumped off the walls of Winterfell, has shown your conviction. Your Strength.”_

_Taking his hand, Sansa laughed nervously. “I really wouldn’t have made it without you, I hope you know that.”_

_He tugged her into a hug, something she didn’t realise she needed. It was warm and open and safe. She had forgotten this feeling many times over the course of her life. When she was younger it would occur more often. With Margaery, even with her Aunt Lysa, before she threatened her. It didn’t happen again until she fell into Jon’s arms at Castle Black. And then again with Arya and Bran and now with Theon._

_She pulled away, “Now,” sniffling back more tears, “Your surprise return and now this, that’s twice today you’ve reduced me to tears, that had better be the last”_

_Breathing out a small laugh, Theon shuffled back, “there she is,” smiling, “alright then, we have a meeting to get to,”_

_Sansa nodded, smiling slightly and turned for the door, Theon on her heels._

“I’m sorry”

Sansa’s head shot up, her eyes wide and glazed over, her lips curving into a smile then quickly changing to a frown, her expression turning to confusion, “Theon,” shaking her head, “you’re sorry? Whatever for?”

He coughed out a small laugh, wincing in pain almost immediately, Sansa’s hand shooting straight to his wound, her other gently squeezing his hand.

“Why, I’ve only gone and reduced you to tears for the third time,”

There was silence, until Sansa smiled, a genuine look of happiness, matching Theon’s. falling into his body and wrapping her arms around him as best as she could, Sansa buried her head into his hair, breathing in relief.


	6. The feast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Here I am preparing kind words of comfort and practicing my smiles”
> 
> “That’s because you are good at it, pretending."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!!! Well I know it's been one heck of a long time and I could blabber on about excuses but you don't really care about that right? Anyway I'm back and hopefully you all had a wonderful new year <3
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter that took way too much time for me to get written. 
> 
> I feel like I should reiterate that I'm not a writer in any way or form I'm only a mere fan of Sansa Stark and Theon Greyjoy and wish to express my love for them through the medium of creative writing, any help or comments are very much welcome and appreciated :) Some of what I write may be out of character, though I do try my hardest to keep it as original as possible though I could never equate to GRRM level. Anyway on with the chapter...

She didn’t want to leave him alone. Nothing seemed important enough anymore to make her leave, to her anyway.

She had no desire to celebrate either, the Night King was defeated, but at what cost. The scenes in the crypts were those of nightmares. Men, women and children falling, under the pretence that they were safe, and now she was meant to drink and eat away their provisions as if winter hadn’t only just begun. Even Arya had managed to evade the celebrations, this was her win and she was spending it alone.

     _“You know that celebrating isn’t my thing”_

_Sansa sighed, “It’s not mine either, at least not now, but here I am preparing kind words of comfort and practicing my smiles”_

_“That’s because you are good at it, pretending. The people love you and look up to you a whole lot more than they do me.” Arya winced as she changed her bandages, “You represent all of us and you’re certainly more qualified than Bran and me to comfort the people and rejoice in this victory”_

_“ Your victory. Arya right now you are the hero of Winterfell, you won this battle for us, not Jon, not his Queen, you. You saved Bran and me and everyone with your creepy assassin moves." _

_The girls giggled as Sansa got up to help Arya with the bandage that was at an awkward angle under her arm,_

_"The people need to see you. You are the Stark they will remember and write about.” Sansa finished gripping onto Arya’s shoulders tight. Arya looked at her face, humour fading away, she could see she was begging, pleading, “I can’t go out there, not now. I can’t pretend anymore, Arya. I almost lost everything last night and it broke me. Seeing all the faces of our people, it’s too much. I’ve never needed a break more in my life, just one night where I don’t have to be what the people need. I’ve never cared so little about the people before, the only person who needs me, who I need, is barely alive and I couldn’t forgive myself if he went while I was –“_

_“Don’t tell me you would rather spend the evening with Theon Greyjoy.” Arya stepped out of her sister’s grip. “Look I get that he saved you and I appreciate everything he did for Bran last night but –“_

_“Don’t.”_

_Sansa’s demeanour suddenly morphed. The fragile, scared human shifted into someone completely different, the woman who greeted her when she came home, a stranger, the Lady of Winterfell._

_“Theon didn’t just save me, and he didn’t just protect Bran. He almost died for the both of us. I never told you what happened with the Boltons but I trust that you understand that ‘saving me’ wasn’t just about him jumping off the walls of Winterfell with me.”_

_“Sansa, I didn’t mean –“_

_She stepped back and smoothed out her chain dress, looking down at Arya, poised, shoulders back and jaw tight, “You don’t need to worry about the feast, I’ll go make the rounds. You were right, the people do need the Lady of Winterfell. Now more than ever. Just because the threat to Westeros is gone does not mean the North is safe.”_

_She effortlessly painted a warm, sympathetic smile on her face that even reached her eyes for something that was so clearly fake, taking Arya’s hands into her own,_

_“I hope your wounds feel better, I had Sam recommend a few treatments for the pain, the list is on the desk by the door. I’ll see you in the morning.” She turned her back and left. No shuffling or second guessing, leaving Arya gaping and apologetic. She was out of the door as if she hadn’t just opened her heart out to Arya after keeping it closed for so long, to then build up her walls again like it was a simple task._

Theon was alone. He was alone and so close to death. Her guilt eating away at her every second she spent away from him. She couldn’t explain this feeling to anyone it seems, Arya couldn’t forgive his past sins, Bran would only complicate things more, being just as cryptic as these feelings. Jon was a good man and would be the right man to confide in, but he had been so distant lately, he had become so persistent on his faith in the Dragon Queen that she felt she couldn’t allow her walls to fully come down with him.

She knew part of the feeling was Love. Out of everything, that was clear to see. She realised that the moment he returned. How this hole in her soul seemed to fill the moment she saw him, a hole she hadn’t realised was there. She’d not felt guilt, despite his past, she almost resonated with him in fact. She regretted the things she did and said as a child, going to Cersei with her father’s plans, loving and trusting Joffrey truly. She had been betrayed and abused; she was alone for so long that she had forgotten what it felt like to feel anything other than fear and resentment.

She realised a long time ago that Theon had been a hostage. A prisoner without bars. The only difference was she knew where her hatred lied, it was blatantly obvious. Her imprisonment only strengthened her identity and encouraged her to embrace who she was and wear her name like it was armour rather than a curse. Theon, he had a harder battle, he had two names that ended up being his downfall. She could understand his actions, forgive him for his crimes, how much her forgiveness meant to the rest of her family was irrelevant to her. After spending so long being punished by Joffrey and then Ramsay, she realised that physical punishment is barely the way to forgiveness. Though Theon’s punishment seemed fitting to her when she first saw him again, it became clear that no form of torture or pain is punishment to a man who wants it, who knows not how to make up for the pain he has caused other than giving himself to torture.

Theon didn’t deserve punishment when he had been punished all his life. Joffrey deserved to be punished, Tywin Lannister, Walder Frey, Roose and Ramsay Bolton, they all deserved to be punished, they all knew who they were and revelled in that evil. Theon was deceived and manipulated and, for the longest time, was never truly a Greyjoy or a Stark.

Robb would have died with or without Theon Greyjoy by his side. Nothing could have changed that fact when Robb was every bit of her father reincarnate, guided by truth and honour. Sometimes Sansa would be grateful that Theon was not with him, she had rehearsed so many different outcomes of her survival with different changes to the smallest of details, the fact of the matter being, she would not have survived without him. Bran and Rickon may have died if it had not been Theon to take Winterfell. She may have been executed at Kings Landing or taken her own life if she had remained there much longer. Brienne may not have been in  those woods to save her from Ramsay’s soldiers. Theon wouldn’t have been by her side on the walls of Winterfell. She wouldn’t have made it back to Jon. She wouldn’t have made it.

She reached the main hall and plastered her perfectly false smile as she watched the rows fill up, men and women alike drinking and singing and eating. It did make her happy, truly. Her people were safe from this fate worse than death. She hadn’t feared anything as much as she did the Night King. And he was finally gone, and her people would be safe, her family and her home were safe.

Ser Davos was the first to greet her and hand her a drink, she lingered as she squeezed his hand, the both of them acknowledging the weight that had lifted off their shoulders, their shared empathy for the people lost.

Brienne was next, racing to Sansa’s side, she couldn’t help but smile genuinely this time at the sight of her friend who for the first time was not in her armour, “Lady Sansa I apologise –“

“Brienne I believe there is some congratulating to be done,” Sansa cut in, breathing out a small laugh, putting down her cup to take in Brienne’s hand, “a little bird told me you are now a Knight of the seven kingdoms, I couldn’t be happier for you,”

Brienne nodded softly, looking to the floor and then back at Sansa, the most beautiful of smiles gracing her face,

“Go, sit. Drink and eat and be merry, you deserve it.”

“thank you, my lady.” Brienne gave her one last smile as she turned to sit with Podrick and, Jaime Lannister. Sansa couldn’t help but smile, he seemed like a puppy, attached to her side looking at her with wide eyes, the kind of vulnerability you wouldn’t expect from a Lannister.

As the final people started to sit Sansa took her place by Jon’s side, returning his soft, warm smile with one of her own, though she wished it were a true one, the nagging feeling that he was not being honest with her about something was still holding her back. Bran was next to be brought in, placed on Sansa’s right she smiled at him, still hoping to see the little brother behind the glazed mask of the Three-eyed raven. She did sometimes, she saw his humanity. He still felt and loved but this responsibility he carries, to him, outweighs the personal aspect of being alive, he feels as though he is only alive for the purpose of being the Three-eyed raven, nothing more.

She felt she saw something, this time however it wasn’t longing or love, it was fear or distress, it was such a fleeting sign that she brushed it off, not completely, but enough that she could try to enjoy the rest of the evening.

She made it seamlessly through the night, laughing and drinking and cheering appropriately, the whole time thinking about how only Theon could make this night truly a celebration. She tried to be civil, avoiding glancing towards the Dragon Queen as much as possible. Her move to legitimise Gendry may have seemed smart, and it would be if she hadn't just legitimised the last living child of Robert Baratheon, and therefore the closest heir to the throne after Cersei.

Sansa knew what the Queen was doing and would be more impressed by it if only it didn't seem so desperate for Northern loyalty. Sansa has seen the way that the Queen is treated, she's heard it from some of the people, and she knows that the Queen has noticed it to. The concerned look on her face when the north men dismiss or ignore her. Sansa understands where they're coming from. The last King and Queen in Winterfell left with her father and the events that followed only put them through more and more suffering. The last Targaryen on the throne murdered her uncle and grandfather in cold blood while another Targaryen kidnapped, raped and killed her aunt. The north had every right to regard her with fear and distrust, more so with the menacingly loyal army and two adult dragons.

However, she wished they would be more subtle. Sansa is all too familiar with the feeling of being unwanted and how that can weigh a person down more than anything, opening up windows to paranoia and greed, and with someone so attached to the idea complete control as the Queen is, it makes for a frightening realisation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be clear, this is like pre-feast stuff, I suspect nothing much about the actual feast would be altered much so there's not really any point in writing it all out, just the thoughts of Sansa really. Also the dialogue with Arya is kind of like a flashback but only to like a few hours prior.


End file.
